A girl is sitting on a upper floor, wishing for a blanket, shivering, carpet green in nauseating throws that lurch up at her head. Moths. Moths on the windows, fluttering in the doorway moths, wingspans grey brown obsolete, blocking exits.



Voices tremble from below, up through banisters, prison bars impregnated by colour flows and music notes of screaming. Door slams shut and she’s alone, wood blocks the pretty tremor notes of purple pink and dark is left, muttering into silence. She shakes stares at her feet. Small. White. Cold. Alone she sits and time goes by as counted by the clock that chimes each fifteen minutes, thirty, forty five and she stops counting. The dark is closing in but for a chink under a door, closed door keeps out the moths. One lands on her hand, she does not shake it, fear the moths, moths that once were stuck inside the dark place in her mind, all captured; now there’s only floating fish of happy colours, not her moths, all cold and dark and free but not alone. They will not leave her alone.



Pretty trembling tremor notes from down below - she grasps at them, clutches with her ears for sounds of crying back from long ago, nineteen years when a woman sat weeping over her baby boy. Grasps at the cage; the bars she rattles, fights for freedom, silenced with a footstep threatening harsh to break the magic. Intermittent, TV shows and laughter form from the other room, the upstairs room, and her moths cannot keep it away. It stops, and silence trickles in her brain to drown in black the remnants of the music notes of screaming. Shadow -



- shadow on the wall of her, the wall all pretty dark and closed, invisible, the shadow tremors, trembles laughs her mouth all wide she cackles at the ceiling, ceiling moving up and down, the tremor notes unnerved it. Silent cackling - do not wake the fishes, they are not welcome here tonight.



Not welcome here tonight - new noises rumble break away out of the pack, not tremor notes. A moaning. Moan soft groaning listen through the door. Chink in the door where the light shines through, moaning, muttered sentences so she gets lost. Girl groans, moans, mutters into silence. Comes. Silence. Girl alone on an upstairs floor, not girl in the upstairs room. Alone in the dark, she trembles.



Listen for the shouting - shouting good, not crying. Crying bad. Giggles, giggles rise loud, so stop them, stop them, hand over her mouth to stop the laughing, such sad laughing, like a cry. Pain. Pain inside her heart she waits as the floor slowly rises to her head.



Feet moving. Moving close towards the door she bolts, runs and something slams behind her. Girl on her landing, thinks, shrugs and goes back in. Closed door. Softly, softly so she moves on to the window. Open window, ledge wide and inviting in the dark, all cold. Reminds her of herself and so she sinks inside the moths are places on a window ledge.



White mound is undecided, confusion reigns. The footsteps moving, shouting over, closer he moves - come. Come my pretty boy, and take my moths away.